Operation Tro
by stillwritingjag
Summary: Harm's and Mac's adventures continue in London.


Author: Laurie

Story Title: Operation Tro

Classification: Hmm – not sure.

Rating: Nothing to worry about.

Posted: December 2006

Disclaimer: JAG belongs to Paramount, CBS, et.al. No infringement

is intended.

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At 0620 hours on the outskirts of London, the furnace came to life with a whoosh. It worked steadily to increase the temperature inside the Rabbs' flat to a comfortable level. At the same time, the sleeve of Mac's flannel pajamas crept up her arm and bunched at her right elbow as her hand felt blindly for Harm's pillow. Finding the soft, down-filled cushion, she pulled it over her face and inhaled Harm's scent, the only trace of him left this morning.

She hugged the pillow tightly and enjoyed the aroma while mentally reviewing the carefully-worded goodbye Harm had whispered at o-dark-thirty – "I'll do what I can to be home this evening at a reasonable hour."

Shaking her head at the loopholes the statement contained, she couldn't help but smile. For while it was true he had stopped short of making a promise, she knew the words were the next best thing because they accompanied a kiss that came oh so close to derailing his departure.

Fortified with optimism, excitement, and anticipation, Mac replaced the pillow and threw back the bed covers to get her own day underway.

---------------------

"You've wrapped things up already?" Commander Lenny McCoy asked as Harm entered the mid-size office.

Taking a seat in front of the desk, Harm yawned, "I started way too early."

The two men sitting in companionable familiarity had recently renewed their friendship having been close friends during their Annapolis years. Now McCoy served as the flight surgeon at RAF Lakenheath, an airbase the U.S. leased north of London. In addition to socializing together with their wives, Lenny saw Harm on a professional basis due to his active flight status. But more often their paths crossed because Harm's position as Force Judge Advocate included investigating air mishaps in the U.K. and other parts of Europe. Fortunately the incident that brought him to Lakenheath today was minor, involving no loss of life, limb, or equipment; nor were there any indications of foul play or subterfuge.

Lenny eyed Harm carefully and grinned. "Judging by that hickey, it wasn't too early, huh?"

Embarrassed, Harm returned the comment with a silent smirk.

"Seriously, you really did finish already?" Lenny asked, letting him off the hook.

"Yeah, it was as straightforward as they come."

"I see. Then it must have been in the spirit of goodwill that you undertook this investigation personally rather than letting one of your minions take care of it," the doctor teased.

Harm was about to defend his being there -- ready to explain his office was short-staffed because of leaves and the illnesses that plague all organizations this time of year. But fortunately the phone rang before his friend would have a chance to mock the rationale; both knowing full well Harm usually took advantage of any opportunity to stay connected with the aviation community. But this time Harm would have delegated the task if he could have, hoping instead to secure the operations at the London headquarters as early as possible today. It was the same reason he sat anxious to be on his way, something he intended as soon as he got Lenny's signature on the after action report he held in his left hand.

Impatiently drumming the fingers of his right hand on his thigh, he watched his friend's face scrunch as he theatrically held the receiver a foot from his ear. Harm grimaced sympathetically. He couldn't make out the words on the other end of the line, but their vehement nature came across loud and clear. Intending to step outside the office and give his friend more privacy, Harm stood only to be waived back into his seat by Lenny who reached for a document from his fax machine.

"Yes, Sir. I have it –"

"&#$!"

"I understand, Sir –"

"$!"

"I'll take care of it …Sir."

The audible click from the other end of the line was heard before the last 'Sir' was out of Lenny's mouth.

"Problem?" Harm asked facetiously.

"Can I help it if this year's flu vaccine isn't capable of fighting the strain running rampant across western Europe!"

Harm chose not to answer the rhetorical question as Lenny threw the fax down on his desk. "There's not a single pilot who doesn't have a fever below 100, not to mention gastric complications."

"Carefully worded," Harm winced. "I take it someone is on your case for grounding Lakenheath's entire squadron?"

"Yeah, specifically General McTavish. He needs a 'vitally important part' airlifted to London before 2400."

"So where is this part?"

Lenny picked up the fax and scanned it, his brows narrowing. He shook his head and handed the orders to Harm whose expression soon equaled his friend's. "They don't know where the part is?"

"It seems someone is working on nailing down an exact location but McTavish wants a C-130 in the air and flying towards the general vicinity ASAP. He's made it my responsibility to see it happens."

"What are you going to do?"

"Not 'me'. It's what 'we' are going to do, Tonto."

Harm immediately sat up straight. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, Harm. You're fit to fly. And I know you're qualified on the Hercules. Do it for me. Otherwise McTavish will have me cleaning bedpans at some godforsaken outpost."

"Mac will kill me if I'm not home tonight."

"Who said anything about not being home before dark? It's currently 0900 hours. How far could they send you?"

"Depends on the weight of the part. If it's a loaf of bread they need, the C-130's range is 4500 miles before needing to refuel."

"They wouldn't need a Herk for that. The part has to be close by."

Harm buried his face in his hand as he shook his head and mumbled, "Mac will kill me."

"Come on, we both know you're dying to do it."

"A C-130 requires a crew of five. Where are you going to find five healthy souls around here?" Harm countered, trying to push his friend off this particular course of action.

"McTavish said he'll approve the mission with a crew of two. So you just need a navigator."

"Even so, where am I going to find a navigator?"

Lenny smiled widely. "You're looking at him."

Harm groaned. "This can't be good."

Lenny remained silent, waiting patiently for a definitive refusal. Meanwhile Harm considered all the variables -- There was a need for his services, the part had to be important to send a skeleton crew after it, he wanted to come through for his friend, he didn't want to disappoint Mac, he had a command to worry about, it was a chance for some air time, he was qualified to fly the mission, he'd flown the C-130 with a two-person crew before, Lenny was his friend, he could still make it home in time to surprise Mac, he left things under control at headquarters, it was a chance for some air time.

Lenny chuckled. "Smoke is starting to come out your ears."

"Very funny. Your wife's not a Marine."

"Quit worrying. You'll be home at a reasonable hour."

----------------------------

Mac scanned the bullpen. It was clear the intensity had heightened. She felt a tangible electricity the likes of which she hadn't experienced since being in the courtroom.

As is often the case with any group of people, each of them had their strengths. For some it was strategic awareness. Others were clearly better with tactics, supply, or logistics. But no matter their fortes, each believed in and worked towards one common goal. It was that goal that made them into one of the finest quick-reaction forces to be found.

Like her colleagues, Mac loved the challenge and the camaraderie. She would even go so far to say she loved her boss and considered him among the best COs she ever had. Having achieved the rank of a full-bird Colonel, he set the bar high, demanding perfection down to the smallest detail. But his drive and passion were contagious and filtered down through his staff until they all believed in and embraced their purpose.

Behind his back, they referred to him as 'C-Cubed', a verbal representation of the algebraic notation 'C' to the third power. But to his face, he remained 'Sir' or 'Colonel', indicative of the respect he commanded.

"Have you completed that manifest, Rabb?" C-Cubed called out from his office.

"Almost, Sir. There are a few items that still need accounted for and assessed."

"See that you keep on it. This mission has a strict deadline."

"Understood, Sir," Mac replied, hiding her smile. Even on the toughest days, all it took was a reminder she was now a 'Rabb' and with the name came not only a great deal of self-esteem but a determination that matched Harm's own.

No sooner had she resumed her work, than she was interrupted again.

"Coffee, Colonel? It's Marine grade."

Knowing the caffeine would help her energy levels, Mac gratefully accepted a cup of the hot brew.

"Thanks, Rudy. I can always count on you."

Not ready to move on to the next staff member, the yeoman leaned in and whispered, "Did you hear the scuttlebutt, Ma'am?"

"No. I haven't had my head above water all day. What's going on?"

"We're headed for a real gaggle."

"I don't believe it. This unit is too finely tuned for any confusion."

"Don't be so sure. Rumor has it C-Cubed had to call in the big guns."

"Well if he did, there's got to be a good reason."

"No reason other than the man is obsessed with this mission. It's well established he'll go to any lengths."

Mac frowned. "But we're already accomplishing so much."

"Doesn't matter. If we don't meet one hundred percent acquisition, he'll deem it a failure."

---------------------

"So how long has it been since you've mapped a flight plan or read a compass?" Harm asked waiting for all four turboprops of the Lockheed C-130 Hercules to come to life.

"You don't want to know," Lenny answered.

Harm's groan was audible. "I was afraid of that."

"It's like riding a bike, right? You never forget how."

"You keep telling yourself that," Harm bantered, the wide smile on his face belying any real fear or misgivings.

Lenny's head skewered around the cockpit, reminding him just how big the interior was. "Thank goodness it's not a Hornet or Tomcat."

"What, you don't like 'wearing' your aircraft?"

"No, I much prefer this setting. It is after all the most dependable aircraft we own."

"Worried?"

"With me at the helm and you flying? I don't have a care in the world."

"Good because the tower has cleared us for takeoff." As the aircraft took flight, Harm asked, "Any updates on our heading?"

"Only that we're to maintain a northeast bearing until otherwise advised."

"It's too weird," Harm said as he leveled off at 18,000 feet.

-------------------

Mac's phone rang. The order on the other end came across before she even announced herself.

"Ma'am, the Colonel wants to see the two of us," Rudy said nervously.

"I'll be right there Tiner, err excuse me, Rudy," she quickly corrected. "Jeesh, it's been a long day," she muttered to herself approaching the CO's office.

"Nice job on this last manifest, Rabb," the Colonel acknowledged, gesturing for the two to take seats as soon as they entered his office.

"Thank you, Sir."

"How's that missile of a husband doing?" he asked, his eyes twinkling as the corners of his mouth remained frozen in a seemingly perpetual state of glee.

Mac's cheeks reddened to match her CO's, betraying the embarrassment that never failed to arise whenever the man insisted on associating 'missile' and 'Harm' in the same sentence.

"He's fine, Sir. Thank you for asking. Busy as always," Mac replied quickly, impressed the man took time to ask at this critical stage. Perhaps that boded well and the nervous jittering of her colleague seated next to her was misplaced.

"Good to hear it. Perhaps he'll understand then when he finds out I need to keep you a little longer."

"Sir?" Mac asked, trying not to show the waves of disappointment coursing through her. Instead she looked at Rudy and received a sympathetic look.

"I could call him to let him know you might be later than expected," Rudy offered.

"Do that quickly," the Colonel interrupted. "Because I need the two of you to pick up the slack on this."

Mac deftly caught the paperwork pushed her away across the desk as he continued explaining. "We've been searching the entire European theatre and have thus far come up empty handed."

Mac studied the specifications before replying. "Certainly there's a substitute for this, Sir."

The gasp from Rudy's mouth could be heard as soon as the words were uttered. Mac in turn wanted to take them back when the Colonel's eyes widened to convey the same reaction.

"Colonel Rabb, I will give you the benefit of the doubt since you're relatively new here. But substitution, clone, similar model, or re-fabricated are not acceptable solutions. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Apology accepted. Now moving on -- I'm placing this component of the mission in your and Rudy's hands. Don't let me down."

"I won't, Sir! You can count on me!" Mac stammered caught up in the challenge.

"I know that. Now the two of you better get started because the clock is ticking."

As Mac and Rudy hurriedly left the office, the yeoman whispered in Mac's ear. "Don't worry, Ma'am. I have a nose for this kind of thing."

----------------

Having been in the air five hours on the same heading, Harm glanced over at his friend and through his headset asked, "Still enjoying the flight, Doctor?"

Lenny turned his head away from the side cockpit window from which he had been steadily looking out for the last hour. "Like a kid in a candy store!"

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Better enjoy the view now though. There's weather moving in."

Lenny didn't waste any time to crane his neck again, looking back down at the white landscape. The rising full moon illuminated the frozen world below with a mid-day brightness that contradicted the perpetual arctic night that reigned over the area this time of year.

"Have you ever flown this far north before?" Lenny asked. When Harm didn't immediately answer, he looked at him. "Harm?"

Unable to share details about his venture into space on the Aurora, Harm eventually answered, "At this elevation, no."

Lenny looked at him oddly. To forestall questions he couldn't answer, Harm continued. "I was stranded in Iceland once. Keflavik."

"No way!" he laughed.

"My girlfriend didn't believe me either."

"Mac?"

"Umm, no. Her name was Renee Peterson."

"Didn't work out, huh?"

Before Harm considered what he was saying, he answered, "No, Renee dumped me for a mortician."

It was only the pain in Lenny's side after laughing so hard that finally squelched his reaction. He wiped the tears from his eyes once he caught his breath.

"I'm so happy to amuse you," Harm muttered.

"Do Keeter or Sturgis know about the mortician?"

"No! And they're not going to find out from you. Are they?" Harm warned.

"My lips are sealed," Lenny said tongue in cheek before another bout of laughter overtook him.

When Harm didn't continue the bantering but looked at his watch instead, Lenny sobered.

"I'm sorry, Harm. I know you wanted to get home early. Maybe there's still hope for a late dinner."

-------------------------

Rudy looked up from the computer screen. "Did you get a message to Captain Rabb, Ma'am?"

Mac frowned. "Not in person. I left messages on his cell and on our machine at home."

"You know, there's still hope to get home early."

"Even if the part exists, there's still no assurance of getting it in time to make a difference. It could be anywhere."

"But that's why C-Cubed has made sure he has assets positioned to retrieve it."

"But once it's in London, we still have to put the component in place."

"But that's what we do best."

Mac mustered a smiled. "Is this optimism coming from the same worried person who thought things were in a gaggle?"

"If you don't mind my saying so, Ma'am, I much prefer you with a smile on your face."

Mac blushed. "Well then, I guess we better make the best use of the time we have left."

Rudy's PC beeped an alert. "I think we might already have, Ma'am."

With a burst of energy, Mac came around to the PC. "Did you find it?" she asked, as Rudy scanned the data.

"Hoo-ah!" Rudy sang out, sharing a high-five with Mac.

---------------------

Lenny glanced out the window then back at the instruments. "The wind is from the west, 270 degrees, gusting at 30 miles per hour. It's snowing harder."

"So much for our smooth flight. How are we doing on fuel?"

"Forty thousand pounds -- over half remaining."

"At this rate we're going to need all of it to get home. There's no place to refuel above the arctic circle unless we divert to Greenland or Iceland."

Lenny cupped his hands and blew into them, then frowned. "Engines are sounding a little rough."

"The cold is playing havoc with the oil."

"Damn, how long do they expect us to hold this course?"

"Better plot a course for Thule, just in case," Harm ordered right before the radio came to life.

"Delta Echo Charlie One Two Two Five do you read? Over."

"This is Delta Echo Charlie One Two Two Five. Over," Harm acknowledged.

"We have final coordinates for you, Captain. You are to proceed to 78 degrees 13 minutes north by 15 degrees 33 minutes east. Component will be waiting for you at the Svalbard airport. Over."

"Coordinates received. Over."

"You'll likely be dealing with significant weather on the way back, Captain. Good luck. Over."

"Understood. Over and out."

Lenny took a deep breath then sighed heavily. "Thank goodness. We can finally set the VOR to something other than 'From London'"

Harm watched as Lenny dialed in the coordinates on the Very High Frequency Omnidirectional bearing. "Yeah, it looks like we're heading for the Norwegian metropolis of Longyearbyen on Spitsbergen Island. Population about 1800 on a good day," Harm grinned, relieved to have finally gotten information on their destination.

"I estimate we land in thirty minutes. Spend maybe fifteen minutes on the ground. Then we head home."

"Home never sounded better."

-------------------------

"What's the timetable?" Mac asked, looking over Rudy's shoulder as she warmed her hands around a fresh mug of steaming coffee.

"Component should be arriving at Lakenheath around 2100 hours."

"That's six hours from now."

"Gives us three hours to spare, Ma'am. We can take it from here. Why don't you check in with C-Cubed and secure for the day."

"I haven't been able to get a hold of Harm. I'd rather stick it out here awhile longer than go home to an empty flat."

"It's okay by me, Ma'am. I like the company."

"Rudy, you know you can call me Mac, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Mac laughed as she got comfortable, able to relax a little for the first time since arriving at the operation's headquarters seven hours earlier.

---------------------

With the moon nowhere in sight and thick clouds obscuring the stars, Harm had honed in on what amounted to a half dozen street lights and landed on the closest thing that resembled a runway. Now as snow whirled around and wind buffeted the Hercules, he kept the engines running while Lenny went to find out the nature of what needed loaded into their empty cargo hold.

Minutes later Harm re-opened the side hatch and lowered the steps after the bright headlight on a snowmobile signaled his friend's return.

Above the loudly idling plane and snowmobile, the driver shouted and waived to Lenny as the latter ran towards the relative warmth of the plane. "Glendelig jul!"

"What's he saying?" Harm shouted over the wind.

"I don't know. He doesn't speak a lick of English. Just wave and let's get our sixes off this frozen rock."

"What about the component?"

"I've got it already," Lenny answered scattering snow onto the floor as he pulled a package wrapped in heavy brown paper from the sack slung over his back.

"Geez, it might as well be a loaf of bread," Harm said studying the ten by twelve inch package that was little more than two inches thick. He brought it to his ear and gently shook it.

"Will you be careful! We don't know what's in there. It could be fragile," Lenny admonished while pulling the hatch closed.

"Did you have to sign anything?" Harm asked tiredly, securing the mysterious cargo in some netting behind the co-pilot's seat before strapping himself in and revving the engines.

Lenny pulled paperwork from his coat pocket. "Just this receipt I was given a copy of."

"Let me see that," Harm grumped, wanting to have some idea of the nature of the cargo what was so badly screwing up his day.

"Mean anything to you?"

Harm squinted in the poor lighting. "Romsdal … bunad … papir-something," Harm read slowly. "It's greek to me."

"More likely Norwegian."

"Possibly. Wait, what's this?"

"What?"

"There's a name on the 'Sold to' line."

"Yeah, I know. It's some Colonel's name I don't recognize."

Harm looked closer at the smudged carbon copy, staring dumbfounded at the paper. When Harm's subsequent chuckling turned into an all out hysterical laugh, it took everything Lenny had to hold back the urge to feel Harm's forehead for a fever.

"Harm? What is it?"

"Nothing," he answered, sobering immediately. "I guess I'm a little punch drunk. The name just struck me as funny."

Worried about Harm's odd behavior, Lenny pulled the paper from his hand and looked again at the name. "I'm missing the joke. Let me in on it."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"It'll give you something to think about on the long ride home," Harm said, pulling his headset in place before aligning the plane parallel to the only lights visible in the strengthening storm.

"Be that way," Lenny said, adjusting his headset as well before adding, "I couldn't get a message through to Connie or Mac."

Harm sighed, pushing the throttle forward. "Not even an email?"

"The island's access went down ten minutes before we landed."

"Damn, we should have left word for them before we left."

"Neither of us honestly thought the mission would take this long."

"Yeah, that explanation is going to go over well when they start speaking to us again," Harm said sarcastically as he pulled back on the yoke and got the plane airborne.

"Here, I got us some food. Maybe it'll help take your mind off things," Lenny said, producing the meager rations once they had leveled off. "What do you want, the finnbiff or brunost?"

Harm scowled as he surveyed the offerings. "That's the best you could do?"

"We're lucky to get this. The shelves were picked pretty clean."

"So what does that tell you about what was left?"

"Do you want anything or not?"

Harm's stomach grumbled. "I'll take the brown cheese. You eat the jerky."

"Fine by me. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

------------------

Two hours after departing Svalbard Airport, Lenny was still engaged in making conversation to help keep Harm's mind sharp in the challenging conditions. Albeit it was mostly a one-sided conversation since Harm was sticking mostly to one word answers.

"How was the cheese?"

"Okay."

"My guess is it was made from goat milk since I doubt there's a cow within a thousand miles from Longyearbyen."

Visibility out any window was less than twenty-five yards and the wind kept trying to alter their course. The mesmerizing snow squalls persisted regardless what elevation they tried, placing them in what looked like a virtual star field moving relentlessly towards them. Keeping his eyes on the instrument panel rather than the non-existent horizon was the only way Harm was keeping the plane level and on course for Lakenheath.

"How's the fuel?" Harm asked, not interested in goats.

"We must have caught a tailwind. It looks like we'll make it to Lakenheath with 7,000 pounds to spare," Lenny answered rubbing his temples.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. My stomach's queasy too."

"Flu?"

"Naw, I think it's staring at these instruments and the constant buffeting. How are you holding up?" Lenny asked, sensing a growing stress in his friend, the underlying strain of which he was certain was not just the worsening weather.

"Okay."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. I need to use the can. Will you be alright up here if I put it on auto-pilot for a few minutes? We seem to be in a relatively stable area."

"Yeah, sure. Go take care of business and stretch your legs. You've earned it. I'll take a break when you get back."

After making sure everything was indeed stable, Harm released his three-point restraints and made his way to the back of the empty plane. There in the dim lighting he found the primitive facilities that allowed him to relieve his bladder.

Having done so, he used the opportunity to close his tired eyes as he stretched his back and legs in an effort to relieve some of the tension. With his fingers splayed against the cold, curved fuselage, he let the vibrations course up his arms and into his shoulders; then listened as the sounds of the engines drowned everything out. Everything except the thoughts that he didn't want to be dwelling on right now but that refused to vacate his mind.

Lenny, well aware of his history, had given Harm an opening to bring it up. But he turned him down. Maybe that was a mistake. It probably was better to acknowledge it rather than both of them pretending there wasn't a white elephant in the cockpit with them. Damn, it wouldn't be half so hard if the weather wasn't so bad.

As if agreeing, the second port engine of the plane sputtered momentarily. So subtle was the variation, Harm questioned whether it had occurred in the first place. Even when the lights slightly flickered, he wanted to chalk it up to his eyes playing tricks on him. But both cases of denial were shattered as he was thrown to the floor only to be immediately tossed in the air as his body tumbled toward the cockpit on its own uncontrolled volition.

He heard the engines whine. He heard Lenny scream his name. He even heard the crack of his wrist as it gave way beneath him the moment his momentum was stopped by the back of the co-pilot's seat.

His mind screamed this shouldn't be happening. That the plane had no right to pitch, yet it did. It should not have yawed, yet the torque was unmistakable. And it should not have gone into an un-commanded roll, much less started a second revolution, yet the G-forces graying the edges of his vision said otherwise.

"Harm! I need you! I can't pull it out of this dive. HARM!"

Somehow Lenny stopped a third roll from starting. The relative reprieve gave Harm a chance to catch his breath and gain his bearings.

"Damn it, Harm! It's simple! Get your six in the pilot's seat or we die!" Lenny yelled.

Whether it was divine intervention, his father's encouragement, or Mac's image, Harm pulled himself up. He then fell awkwardly into a position whereby he could intertwine both arms in the vacant yoke while bracing a foot against the instrument panel. Feeling the familiar curves catch between his elbows and biceps, he strained with everything he had, ignoring the pain.

"Pull, Lenny, PULL!"

Too many frightening seconds passed before Harm started to fall backwards, a clear indication they were winning the battle against gravity. The advantage shifting back their way, Harm landed in his seat. His eyes went first to the still-illuminated indicator showing wings-level; then to the altimeter.

"How … close … were we?" Lenny panted, unable to differentiate white terrain from clouds and snow, but aware their downward plummet had ceased.

"If there … had been … trees, … they'd be topless," Harm answered, easing the plane to a safer altitude. A short time later, having caught his breath, he reported more normally, "Leveling off at Angels 10."

"Thank God."

"We're not out of the woods yet. Look at the magnetic compass."

Both men were transfixed on the frame separating the front cockpit windows. There they watched the compass spin wildly in circles, making a mockery of its intended purpose.

"Damn, the electric compass is haywire too," Lenny said, tapping the second navigational device that was presenting a more sedate but no less alarming scenario as it completed a new 360 degree revolution every five seconds.

"Radio?" Harm's disembodied voice asked in the darkened cockpit, all but the exterior lights on the wings and those illuminating the instrument panel having shorted out.

"Nothing but static on all UHF and VHF frequencies."

"Is the VOR still locked on Lakenheath?"

"Negative. Malfunctioning."

"Radar?" Harm asked.

"Inoperable."

"Try running it on auxiliary power."

"Still inoperable."

"We have to declare an emergency. Use the transponder," Harm ordered, not willing to risk more time before more systems failed.

"Emergency signal is transmitting – I think. What the hell is happening?"

"It looks like an electro-magnetic event has fried half our electrical systems and is interfering with navigation."

"Yeah, but what brought it on?" Lenny asked.

Having no answer, Harm looked over at Lenny's barely visible face and asked instead, "Lenny, why did the autopilot disengage?"

"It must have incurred more than a three-degree course change when the turbulence hit," he answered.

"Air pocket?"

"Umm, no. It felt more like we flew through the backwash of a large airliner."

"Did you see an exhaust trail?"

"Not exactly. In this visibility, it looked more like a yellow comet that overtook us from behind before crossing our path from right to left. I don't think it was an aircraft because the IFF didn't return any ident before the radar wonked out."

"You're declaring it a UAP?"

"Either it's an Unidentified Aerial Phenomena or something was intentionally jamming our radar."

"We'll figure it out later. Right now we have bigger problems. Specifically, we have no idea what course we're on and we're burning our fuel reserves with every passing minute. And while spending the night on Greenland is not my first choice, it beats ditching over the Arctic Ocean when we run dry."

"We're going to have to climb higher and get above the weather to get a bearing by the stars. Then we'll use the inertial navigation system."

Harm groaned. "You're aware the colder air could cause the engines to seize up."

"We have no idea when or if the compasses will calm down. What choice do we have?!"

"None," Harm answered, letting his left hand do most of the work to pull back on the yoke. "Climbing higher."

With every 2,000 feet gained in altitude, the engines ran noticeably rougher, sputtering loudly. Lenny craned his neck looking for any indication the cloud cover was thinning. "Damn, any higher and we're going to stall!"

"A thousand more feet. If we still don't see stars, we'll descend."

Moments later, both men whispered in tandem, "Damn."

----------------------

Still in the midst of reveling in their success, Mac and Rudy were unexpectedly summoned to the Colonel's office. Not seeing the General until she was fully inside, Mac's body, honed from years of military service, snapped to crisp attention. In that same instant her eyes spotted Connie McCoy sitting on the couch in the corner.

The woman's stiff bearing would have been enough to send Mac's imagination into overdrive. But it was General McTavish addressing her as 'Mrs. Rabb' that sent the pit of her stomach tumbling.

"What's happened? It's Harm isn't it? Something's happened to him. Damnit! Somebody tell me something!"

Connie stood and went to Mac. If not for their husbands, the two women likely wouldn't have found each other on their own. But after having been introduced and realizing they shared many of the same fears and challenges, their friendship grew honestly. So it was with a supportive arm around Mac's shoulders, that Connie led them to the couch.

"Tell me," Mac begged her friend.

"I know less than you."

Mac's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Something's happened to Lenny too?"

Connie took a deep, stabilizing breath. "It seems so. The General and Colonel are going to fill us in now." The last words were directed towards the two men and spoken with the unmistaken tone of an order.

And with that both women sat perched on the edge of the couch. Rudy remained standing behind them, adding another set of worried eyes to those falling upon the nervous faces of the two men facing them.

"I didn't know Captain Rabb, or Commander McCoy for that matter, were tapped for Operation Believe until General McTavish arrived moments ago," Mac's CO began the undoubtedly difficult explanation. "If I had known, I would have told you Colonel Rabb."

"Operation?" Connie asked. It was obvious she was more out of the loop than Mac.

"We needed, still need," the Colonel corrected, "a final component to complete our mission. Retrieval of that component was undertaken six hours ago."

"I still don't understand," Connie said when the man wasn't making things clear fast enough.

General McTavish cleared his throat and addressed both women. "I'm responsible for directing all our assets in this part of the world. As such, when the Colonel brought me up to speed on the status of the mission, I ordered Commander McCoy to undertake whatever steps necessary to get a C-130 in the air as one off several contingency plans to transport a vitally important part to London. Commander McCoy then conscripted Captain Rabb to serve as pilot, while he filled out the two-man crew as navigator. We have every reason to believe they were successful in picking up the part."

"But?" Mac prompted when the General didn't appear eager to continue. Both women knew what would follow would be bad news -- just how bad remained the question. In their shared fear, their hands sought each other's, forming a virtual support system.

"But we received an emergency distress signal from them two hours ago. Attempts to locate them on radar or make contact by radio have thus far failed. Nor are we still receiving the transponder's signal."

Connie's free hand went to her mouth. "They've gone down?!"

"No! They haven't gone down! I would know. I would know." Mac's voice trailed off.

"We don't know if they've gone down," McTavish formally clarified.

"Who is heading the search and rescue efforts?" Mac demanded. "I want to be there! I can help!"

The General stood firm. "Everything north of the sixtieth parallel is currently socked in by weather and not navigable by sea or air. No improvement is expected until morning."

--------------------------

"For what it's worth, the INS system is still holding us on a steady course – to somewhere. Now I really do need to use the can before I upchuck in my lap, or yours, whatever the case might be," Lenny said, trying to lighten the dark mood that had descended with their failed attempt to find any stars at 26,000 feet. "At least the engines sound stable. Don't you agree? … Harm? … Did you hear me?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry."

"What's wrong?" Lenny asked, determined to get out in the open the unspoken event that was no doubt consuming his friend's mind.

"Hurts."

In the darkness, Lenny's head swiveled in surprise towards Harm's barely visible form. That answer wasn't at all what he was expecting. "Hold on, while I find a flashlight." Moments later, he flipped on the battery operated torch stowed beneath his seat.

"Don't," Harm warned too late. The light did only a fair job illuminating the cockpit, but did a stellar job sending spikes of pain through Harm's head. "Oww! Damn it!" he cursed, as his bad arm instinctively jerked in an attempt to cover his eyes.

"You're a mess! How long did you intend to tough this out?!"

"Only until you got the INS set up … Nice job, by the way."

"Flattery won't keep me from checking you out."

"Nothing to check. My wrist is broken and I have a bump on my head."

"A head that's leaking more than good sense. I'll get the first aid kit. There's likely a splint in it." Lenny was already out of his seat when his last words trailed behind him. "$ stubborn …"

"Did you get lost?" Harm asked when there were two of them again in the cockpit.

"Your flying hasn't helped my stomach. I stopped off at the rest stop."

"Is the plane going to start stinking?"

"Easy for you to joke about it; it's not your stomach. Now hold still while I see how your eyes react to this light."

"Well?" Harm asked after cooperating with the primitive examination.

"I don't think you have a serious head injury and the bleeding will stop now that I've bandaged it. So, Dr. Rabb, I'm ready to take a look at your self-diagnosed broken wrist."

To counter the sarcasm, Harm held his breath and lifted the arm he currently cradled against his waist.

"Jeesh! I'm sorry for doubting you," Lenny said contritely upon seeing the odd angle at which Harm's hand hung from his wrist. "How did you help pull us out of the dive with that?"

"Adrenaline. Of course, someone screaming about dying might have helped too."

"Well by the looks of your pallor, I'd say adrenaline has vacated the premises. So keep it on auto-pilot and try to hold in all invectives while I secure this splint."

Seeing the supreme effort it took Harm from crying out as his wrist was straightened and positioned in the splint, Lenny relented. "If it'll help, go ahead and yell. You can even call my mother names."

"I think the worse has passed," Harm said weakly as he surveyed the splint that started just below his elbow and ended just short of any knuckles.

"Good, then try wriggling your fingers for me."

Harm complied. "It's not too bad. Thanks."

"You're not going sappy on me, are you?"

"It's not in my vocabulary."

Lenny gently laid Harm's splinted arm back in his lap. "Seeing as I can't land this aircraft, I'm not going to put it in a sling since I'd much prefer you keep two hands on the yoke when it comes that time."

When Harm responded with a small, but tired grin, Lenny continued. "Here, you have my permission to take four of these."

After Harm downed the painkillers, he checked both malfunctioning compasses once again. Lenny meanwhile moved to stow the first-aid kit behind his seat when Harm stopped him with, "Wait!"

"What is it?"

"Check the survival pouch. There might be a compass in it."

"Brilliant! See what me fixing your head did."

As expected, there was in fact a compass. Contrary to what they had hoped, however, it too would not hold a constant point, oscillating at whim in one direction then another.

Lenny sighed. "It was a good idea anyway."

"Good ideas won't get us home. So let's figure out what's causing our electric and magnetic interference."

"Since the compass in the survival gear isn't working either, I think we can eliminate a critical systems malfunction."

"So if it's not outright mechanical failure, something else is causing the magnetic disturbance – maybe a solar flair, or your UAP."

"Would you please stop referring to it as 'my' UAP. It's not as if I conjured it up. Anyway, have you considered maybe someone is intentionally causing the E-M havoc to prevent us from completing this mission?"

"Maybe what's in the package is itself the cause," Harm countered, nodding slowly towards the package still lodged securely in the cargo netting.

--------------------

"Where's Mrs. McCoy?" the Colonel asked.

Mac shifted her position on the couch for the umpteenth time, refusing to give in to the urge to pace. "Calling her family."

"Is there no one you want to contact?"

Mac had agonized over whether or not to call Harm's mom and step-father. In the end she decided against it. To do so felt too much like giving up. And when it came to Harm, it was much too early to give up hope. Still, a cat only has nine lives.

"Not yet!" she answered adamantly, angry the negative thought had wormed its way in. She would know if he was gone. Wouldn't she?

Uncharacteristically, the Colonel took a seat on the couch instead of behind the desk he normally commanded. "I'm getting too old for this."

"What, Sir?"

"This," he clarified, making a sweeping arc with his arm that conveyed nothing specific, while taking in everything.

"Old is a state of mind. And from what I've seen, you'll never be too old for this. And 'never', Sir, is a word I don't use lightly anymore."

"Still, I'm ultimately responsible for putting your husband in such peril just for the sake of the mission. Did I go too far this time? I'd appreciate an honest answer, Colonel."

Mac searched her brain. She searched her soul. And she searched her heart. And with a peace that amazed her, she answered the question calmly.

"Sir, men like my husband are good at what they do. And they love what they do. Not just the flying, that's a given. I'm talking about the opportunity to make a difference, to keep us safe, to believe in something so strongly it guides your life."

"But Commander McCoy and Captain Rabb have no idea what they risked their lives for."

"Colonel, while I can't speak for Commander McCoy, I believe without a smidgen of doubt it wouldn't have made a darn difference if they had known." Mac paused and the room became very quiet. "In fact, Sir. I think when Harm gets home, he'll agree it's as important a mission as he's ever been asked to undertake."

------------------------

"We should."

"Probably."

"We weren't given permission."

"We weren't told not to."

"We need to know."

"It might not do any good."

"But it might."

"Agreed."

"We'll do it."

It hadn't mattered who took which position in the debate. They needed to verbalize the exchange to allay their conscience, knowing there was no doubt at the start of it what the final outcome would be.

"You're going to have to do the deed," Harm said.

"It would help if you made it an order."

"Fine." Harm cleared his throat. "Commander McCoy, bring the package from Longyearbyen up here and 'carefully' remove the wrapping."

"Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir."

For the second time in thirty minutes, Lenny undid his restraints. He was halfway out of his seat when some unseen force slammed him back into it. "What the –"

"Turbulence!" Harm hissed, grabbing the yoke with both hands. "Oww! You're going to have to help!"

Lenny wasted no time re-securing his restraints and grabbing the yoke on his side of the cockpit. "The instruments are going nuts!"

"Just worry about keeping her level and maintaining our altitude!"

With both men at the controls, they held their own in the violently vibrating aircraft and, for the time being, were forestalling another deadly dive.

"We can't keep this up much longer!" Lenny shouted to be heard over the noise. "Let's change course! Maybe things will improve!"

"She's not responding."

Harm scanned every dial and indicator on the instrument panel. With no useful information to be gleaned, he directed his eyes out the side cockpit window. The red and white strobe lights on the wing tip looked ghostly in the poor visibility.

"The altimeter appears to be working. Let's descend a thousand feet." When Harm didn't acknowledge the suggestion, Lenny tried again, "Harm, let's descend!"

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"I think your UAP has returned."

With the startling news, Lenny leaned forward to look out Harm's port window. There the ethereal lighting suggested the comet-like phenomena he described earlier was now matching their speed and paralleling their position.

"It's moving off," Harm reported. "The turbulence is improving and we again have steering capability."

"What are you doing?!" Lenny demanded, seeing the obvious changes on the inertial navigation system.

"Following it."

"Are you crazy?"

"What difference does it make? We have no idea what course we've been following."

"It's a gamble."

"Aren't you the least bit curious about your UAP?"

"Fine, damn it! Just follow it at a safe distance."

"And you just keep an eye on the INS."

Ten minutes later the Hercules had gained 5,000 feet in altitude. "What's the INS indicating?" Harm asked, not wanting to take his eyes off the odd phenomenon.

"We've made an 180 degree about face. But we're now holding steady on this new course."

"Engines are sounding rough again. We can't keep climbing much longer."

"Do you have any idea what it is?"

"No. It defies any laws of physics I'm aware of," Harm answered.

"Damn! It's disappeared."

Both men craned their necks out every available window looking for where the 'comet' might have gone. For it had not simply dissipated. Rather it had suddenly streaked off, its speed leaving them in the dust. As they continued looking, the disconcerting sound of the engines sputtering redirected their attention.

"Whoa! We're too high. The engines are seizing up," Harm said, about to reduce their altitude.

"Wait, Harm. Look!"

"Is that what I hope it is?"

"Stars!"

Lenny was the first to spot the North Star – behind them – validating they would have continued going the wrong direction if not for following 'his' UAP. At least they would be spared ditching in the Arctic Ocean now.

Check the VOR. Can we lock onto anything south of us?" Harm asked.

"No luck. Still not functioning."

"Well, the good news is we're now pointed towards home. The bad news is we've used up our fuel cushion. We might be landing on fumes."

As if to concur, the Hercules again sputtered dangerously again. "Better descend. We'll rely on the INS to get us home."

--------------------

At 2230, four hours after being informed of the emergency signal from Delta Echo Charlie 1225, Mac and Connie ran into St. Theresa's Hospital.

Connie was the first to pull up short, having spotted her husband sitting with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands.

"Lenny! Thank God!"

Hearing his wife's voice, Lenny raised his head. Mac's face went white, seeing both his pallor and expression. But then she unloaded. "They told me it wasn't serious! How bad is he?! Why did they lie?"

Lenny raised his hand, unable to speak as more bile rose from his stomach. Seeing her husband in obvious distress but safe, Connie immediately felt a pang of guilt for her relative good fortune. "Mac we'll check at the Nurse's Station for information."

"No, wait!" Lenny tried again. With one hand he pointed off to Mac's left. With the other, he grabbed for the trash bin where he proceeded to deposit more of his stomach contents, all the while pointing with his other arm.

Mac turned to follow the navigational aid and was immediately rewarded with the best sight she could imagine. Quickly closing the distance, she wrapped her arms around Harm's waist, mindful of the arm supported in a sling.

"I'm okay," Harm soothed, returning the hug, and tenderly placing a kiss on top of Mac's head.

Mac relinquished her tight hold to assure herself. Reaching up, she gently touched the goose egg above her husband's right eye. The small, white butterfly band-aid stood in stark contrast to the dark, purple bruising.

Both men were still in their flight uniforms, a hopeful indication their injuries weren't serious. But Lenny's groan as he hugged the plastic receptacle to him as his wife supported him, suggested at least one of them ought to be in bed.

"They insisted on giving me a plaster cast," Harm said annoyed, not too concerned about his friend's distress.

In the midst of a blessed reprieve, Lenny replied, "These days they only give those to headstrong patients who might have ideas of taking it off when they choose. You can let us sign --"

Unable to complete the sentence, Lenny groaned and buried his head back in the plastic-lined trash container.

"What's wrong with Lenny?" It was Connie's turn to demand more information as Mac led Harm to a nearby chair.

"Too much finnbiff -- " Harm started to answer, only to be drowned out from behind.

"Finnbiff! Good gravy! No self-respecting soul would ever eat reindeer in a bag!"

Equipped with new knowledge from some as yet unseen source, Lenny's head descended once more. When he eventually came up for air, Mac started to introduce the source of the raucous exhortation. "This is my boss—"

"C-Cubed," Harm interrupted, before Mac quickly silenced him with an elbow to his side. "Oww, Marine! Bruised body here."

"As I was saying, this is my boss, Colonel Christopher Cringle, and his wife, Rudy. They were good enough to bring us to the hospital."

"That would be 'retired' Colonel Cringle. I haven't seen active duty in over a decade," the relatively short, rotund, white-haired, bearded man with a perpetual twinkle in his eye clarified.

Lenny's eyes narrowed as his eyes met Harm's equally confused expression. "But your name was on the requisition for the part we picked up," Lenny voiced the crux of the matter.

"General McTavish is a close friend. I called in a favor."

Beginning to see the light, Harm chuckled. "The 2400 hour deadline."

Lenny in turn was still confused. "Will somebody please explain to me what's going on?"

"Christopher, step aside and let me explain," Rudy ordered, the elderly woman speaking up for the first time. "You see, Commander McCoy, my husband now heads the Marine's Toys for Tots Campaign in this part of the world. And I assure you he takes that responsibility very seriously."

From the expression on his face, it was clear Lenny's brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. Rudy continued patiently. "Not only do we rely on volunteer support from people like Mrs. Rabb, but also on the generous donations of cash and toys from big businesses to small. But it's more than seeing to it each deserving child has a gift waiting for them under the tree on Christmas."

"It is my husband's mission to see that every needy child in the area receives something meaningful to them. For it does little good to give a football to a young boy who sets his goals on being a scientist; or to simply give a girl a Barbie doll when she wishes every day for the same paper dolls her beloved grandmother use to tell her about."

"I take it you had a particularly difficult wish to fulfill?" Harm asked.

"Yes. But thanks to you and Commander McCoy, we were successful," the old Colonel concluded. "Now I think the two of you deserve to spend the rest of what's left of today with your wives who have been dreadfully patient with me."

"As soon as they're debriefed," General McTavish said, arriving in time to hear the dismissal. "I'll do it myself."

Lenny and Harm quickly explained to the newest arrival that their groans were a result of their injuries. And while the quick thinking clarification spared them a reprimand, it did not get them out of a grueling question and answer session.

"It's mystifying, to say the least. But then transient electromagnetic effects often are," General McTavish summarized two hours later. "You can go home now. And gentlemen, Merry Christmas."

And with that a light bulb went off in Lenny's head and he started laughing hysterically. The laughter sent McTavish from the room and brought Connie and Mac running.

"What's so funny?" Harm asked.

Trying hard to answer, Lenny got out "Christopher Cringle – I finally get what you found so funny."

Harm rolled his eyes and shook his head. "That's what's known as being slow on the uptake, my friend. Connie, take this poor man home."

-------------------

"I'm sorry I screwed up plans for our first Christmas Eve together," Harm said.

"I'm not, now that you're home safe. It was for a good cause," Mac reassured him.

"Yes it was. And it did start out fun."

Mac swatted Harm's shoulder. "So you decided to follow the comet," she said, pulling the bed covers up over them.

"Yeah."

Mac continued to hear the slight melancholy in his voice. "Do you miss visiting with your dad at the Wall?"

"No, I believe he understands."

"Then why are you so sad?"

"I was so afraid," Harm whispered in the dark. "I was so afraid I was going to disappear from your life on the same day my father disappeared from me and my mother."

"Oh, Harm! But you have to believe some part of him was up there with you too."

"I do. I believe a part of him will always be with me every day of my life, no matter where I am."

Mac's eyes pooled with tears. She pulled Harm closer and rose up on her elbow, until her face was above his. Then she gently stroked the bruise on his forehead. "Tell me what else you believe."

"I believe in Santa Claus," he answered before Mac's lips descended on his.

-------------------

In the darkness, Harm felt Mac's tears on his face.

"Hey, don't cry," he said, wanting to stroke her hair, but finding it cumbersome to do with the cast on his arm.

"Harm!"

"Yes?"

"You're awake!" Mac said, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

"Ah, yeah. I didn't think that was in question." The confusion in Harm's voice grew tenfold when he no longer found himself in his own bed. "What the …? Where am I?"

"St. Theresa's Hospital."

Harm's eyes narrowed. "The hospital?"

"You gave us quite a scare, Captain Rabb."

"Who are you?"

"Rudy. Your nurse. Now you just stay put while I go find Dr. McTavish."

"Listen to the nurse, Harm," Lenny warned, entering the room while motioning to Connie that it was okay for her to follow. "We were worried you were going to miss Christmas Eve entirely."

Harm took in the faces surrounding his bed. First Mac; then Lenny and Connie; and back to Mac again before asking, "I didn't miss it?"

"Nope. Two hours to spare," Connie assured him.

"We were afraid your head injury was worse than what the tests were showing." Mac paused, unable to resist giving her husband another kiss.

"McTavish and I both concur your previous head injuries are likely why you had difficulty regaining consciousness," Lenny added. "You took quite a fall."

"Fall?"

"Don't you remember?" Mac asked worriedly.

The expression on Harm's face clearly said he did not.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" Lenny asked.

"Umm. Going to bed with Mac in the wee hours of Christmas morning," Harm answered.

"Sorry, buddy. That hasn't happened yet," Lenny said. "But you stay positive and maybe they'll spring you before Christmas is over."

"You're not sick from eating reindeer in a bag?" Harm asked.

"What?!" all three asked.

"Never mind," Harm mumbled.

"Some amount of confusion and memory loss is to be expected. I'm sure Dr. McTavish will explain it to you," Lenny said.

"Fine. Why don't you tell me what happened," Harm said, his pouting expression suggesting he really didn't want to know.

"There isn't much to tell. The weather turned ugly after you arrived at Lakenheath this morning. You personally wanted to conduct the investigation into Cringle's mishap."

"Colonel Christopher Cringle?" Harm asked warily.

"Yeah. When I asked you why you wanted to handle it, you said -- Tis the Season," Lenny chuckled. "Anyway, you would have been out of my hair by 0930, except that you slipped on the ice-covered steps outside my building, knocking yourself unconscious and breaking your wrist."

"You've been unconscious for ten hours," Mac said, the stress lines on her face conveying each and every one of them.

"I'm sorry," Harm said the same time Dr. McTavish entered the room.

"Now that you're awake, Mr. Rabb. I'd like to keep you that way a little longer, without overtaxing you too much," McTavish said, clearly indicating there were far too many people in the room. "The wife stays, everybody else go home."

"Take care, Harm. We'll see you tomorrow," Connie said, starting for the door. "He's always on the clock," she added, pulling Lenny from the room when he didn't immediately follow.

----------------------

"Neither of us had a chance to hear any news today. Do you want me to turn the telly on?" Mac asked.

"I don't care," Harm grumped.

"Hurting?"

"No. I'm fine."

"You only have two more hours before Dr. McTavish said you can go to sleep."

Harm sighed. "Whatever."

Realizing how he must sound, Harm rebounded a little. "I'm sorry I screwed up the plans for our first Christmas Eve together; and likely Christmas too," Harm said.

"All that matters is you're okay. I don't need anything more," Mac reassured him.

Suspecting there was more to Harm's melancholy, she asked "Do you miss visiting with your dad at the Wall?"

"No, I'm sure he understands there are new traditions to be made."

"Then why are you so sad?"

Harm smiled weakly, unable to even begin explaining. Instead he reached for Mac's hand with his good one. That simple gesture was all it took for him to realize how much he had been given this Christmas. "Come here, Mrs. Rabb. There's room up here for both of us."

And while Mac periodically looked over to insure Harm's eyes were still open, it was together that they watched the late news on the Armed Forces station.

"She's annoying," Mac said of the perky blonde that reminded her of someone she couldn't put her finger on.

"She's cute," Harm teased.

Mac swatted Harm's shoulder as she pulled another blanket up over them. "Shh, I wanted to hear what she's saying."

"And in other news, an atmospheric disturbance earlier today between the sixtieth and ninetieth parallels continues to baffle scientists. Though unidentified, the comet-like phenomenon is thought to have originated at the North Pole and might likely be the source of magnetic disturbances experienced by several pilots in the area."

"Our final item tonight deals with E-Bay, the computerized garage sale. True, it's often one more opportunistic rendering of humanity's drive for profit and commercialization, but let us consider what happened on the tiny Norwegian island of Spitsbergen today. Amongst its 1800 inhabitants is an E-Bay poster who made available an item free of charge. His generosity, along with that of an unidentified, skillful pilot, has made Christmas come true for some little girl north of London. And while we might not fully appreciate the wonderment that little girl sees in a never-used set of Romsdal Bunad Papirdukker -- umm, that's a set of paper dolls in authentic Norwegian dress – who amongst us is not warmed by this example of kindness and goodwill among men."

"I'm Andrea Peterson, wishing you a Norwegian 'Glendelig Jul' – that's Merry Christmas to the rest of us. Remember – It's a time to give; and a time to receive; but most important of all, it's a time to Believe. Good night."

Harm pulled Mac closer and rose up on his elbow, until his face was above Mac's. Then his lips descended upon hers. When they came up for air, Mac gently stroked the bruise on Harm's forehead. "Do you believe in Santa Claus, Sailor?"

"You bet I do, Marine."

-------------

The End.

Author's note: Tro (or Tru) is Norwegian for believe.


End file.
